Glove
by FlippySpoon
Summary: Jimmy is fascinated by Thomas's glove. Very fascinated. Ardently fascinated. Really extremely fascinated.


**Note**: So there's no plot here, but it's sort of a series of ficlets based around Jimmy being turned on by Thomas's glove. Smut.

**Glove #1**

Jimmy had been having odd thoughts about Thomas's glove. It had started one night when had Thomas handed him a wine glass and Jimmy's hand curled over his, being careful not to drop it. But he hadn't been paying attention and was inwardly startled to feel leather atop skin. Once Thomas had touched his neck with the gloved hand while he was playing piano. But that was before and he had been distracted by his own anger at the familiarity. Things were much different now. Not that Thomas was so familiar. On the contrary, he was careful around Jimmy, like some chivalrous knight in a fairy story. And Jimmy was the maiden faire.

He didn't like that.

He didn't fancy himself a maiden faire.

Couldn't they just be two knights?

Maybe sometime soon Thomas and he would relax, and they could just be two knights.

Besides, ever since he had felt leather against skin, he had not felt like a maiden faire at all.

Maybe a really saucy maiden faire.

It was like a tick in his mind: leather and skin, leather and skin.

In the boot room one day, he went so far as to lay the calf of a boot against his arm and feel the fighting textures of both. But it wasn't the same.

It wasn't Thomas's glove.

At tea in the servants' hall one day, he thought himself daring just for spinning a fantasy in his mind of Thomas touching his neck the way he had before with his gloved hand. Only this time Jimmy wouldn't mind it. Then the gloved hand traveled down his neck and under his shirt.

He dropped his spoon with a clatter at tea and everyone looked at him.

One day in the kitchen, Thomas said, ever so nonchalant, "I'm going into Ripon tomorrow. If anyone needs anything. Getting a new glove."

Jimmy didn't hear what Alfred was saying after that, which was no loss really.

He was stuck now on the thought of Thomas getting a new glove.

What would he do with the old one?

Also, would the new one be a different color? Would it feel different?

Also, why couldn't he get Thomas's bloody glove out of his head?

Jimmy discovered the next day, that Thomas had left his old glove behind when he went to fetch the new one. He knew this because he saw Thomas leaving and, as had become an unsettling habit, Jimmy's eyes quickly traveled to where the glove should be. But instead of the usual leather one, there was instead something blue and woolen.

Jimmy didn't comment.

Thomas went to Ripon.

Jimmy went upstairs.

He had not intended for anything untoward to happen.

He had certainly not intended to steal Thomas's glove.

He just wanted to look at it. Or rather, pick it up and see if that feeling came back again.

Leather on skin.

Why? If he asked himself why, he would do as well to jump off London Bridge.

He found the glove in Thomas's top drawer and held it in his hands, fondling the leather.

Thomas had said he wouldn't be back until late. This too, had bothered Jimmy. What would keep him late in Ripon? There was nothing to do there.

On the other hand…

If Jimmy took the glove for a while-

_To do what?_ His brain argued.

_Stuff it, brain. _

_TO DO WHAT?!_

_STUFF IT!_

Jimmy didn't inwardly answer the question of "to do what," he just took the glove to his room before anyone caught him out. He shoved the glove under his mattress and went back downstairs.

He served dinner.

He ate his own dinner.

He went back upstairs as soon as he could get away with going to bed, and before Thomas was likely to be home. He went about his ablutions for the night and changed into his pajamas.

Once he was alone in his room, sitting on his bed, with the glove in his hands, his heart started racing. It was real now. He had truly stolen Thomas's glove to…to…

He took off his shirt.

He put on the glove.

He lay on his back.

He closed his eyes.

He touched his own neck with his gloved hand, massaging it lightly the way Thomas had all the that time ago. Now he imagined it was Thomas again; crouched over him with a gaze full of desire. If it were Thomas, he would bring his hand slowly down over Jimmy's chest just the way he'd imagined it at tea. The leather was softer than it looked, but not too soft.

Feeling utterly depraved, Jimmy sniffed it.

Smoke. Leather. Skin. Thomas.

His prick was hard and Jimmy held it in his gloved hand. That alone made him gasp and he bit his other fist. He imagined Thomas bringing him off and dragging his lips from Jimmy's neck and down, down, down, retracing the glove's trail. He stroked himself and wished it was Thomas' hand; those long fingers. He even imagined that Thomas was in full white-tie livery while _he_ was naked. There was something that aroused him even more about being under Thomas's full control while his prick felt every wrinkle that Thomas's hand had made in the supple leather. He bit his lip and quickened his stroking. Thomas's mouth joining his hand…

Tongue. Leather. Skin.

He saw stoic blue eyes flashing in his head before he came.

On the glove.

That would need to be cleaned.

He relaxed afterward, panting, and staring at the glove as if it where the culprit.

He heard footsteps in the hallway. Thomas was talking to Alfred. Jimmy sat up, threw the glove across the room, and put his shirt on, just in case. But the voices faded.

Now Thomas was home.

It was too late to return the glove.

Which would need to be cleaned.

On the other hand, maybe he wouldn't notice. Since he had his new one. If not, well, Thomas would probably not suspect Jimmy of stealing his leather glove in order to bring himself off. That was unlikely. But Jimmy lay awake for a while worrying about it.

After eventually bringing himself off again.

In the morning, he woke early in order to sneak downstairs and find the proper kind of soap for cleaning the glove.

Which he was sort of hoping he might get away with keeping.

He had decided this at three o'clock in the morning.

In the scrubbing basin by the cleaning pantry, he lathered up the glove but was careful not to put any water on it. There was a special oil for cleaning leather after that.

He was oiling it when Thomas walked in.

"Is that my glove?"

Jimmy looked up at Thomas, who appeared slightly puzzled. He looked down at the glove which, the night before, he had used to pleasure himself and which he now considered a flawless artifact of pure eroticism.

"No," Jimmy said. "I mean, yes. But… I found it. In the hall."

"In the hall?" Thomas looked doubtful.

"Don't look at me," Jimmy said lightly, feeling an utter genius. "And somebody had stepped on it. So… I thought I'd clean it. You see."

"Oh. Uh, thank you. Got a new one though."

Jimmy nodded. All was right with the world. His clever deception had won the day. Perhaps he _could _convince Thomas to let him keep the old one for…playing cricket.

Or something.

Thomas said, "New one's black. I thought it might be more sophisticated."

He held up his hand to reveal a pristine black leather glove with silver rivets along the side.

Jimmy swallowed.


End file.
